


To Deserve a Life (With You)

by LazyWriterGirl



Series: LWG'S FE Femslash Week 2019 (March Edition) [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Rarepair, Redemption, fefemslashweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 03:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriterGirl/pseuds/LazyWriterGirl
Summary: FE Femslash Week 2019Day 1, Prompt: RestorationIn which Aversa does not feel that she deserves to live a better life, and life does not agree...





	To Deserve a Life (With You)

All that is broken might one day be mended.

All that is lost might one day be found.

All that is destroyed might one day be restored.

Everything but broken faith in a god not worth godhood.

Everything but the loss of lives too young for taking.

Everything but Aversa, who destroyed; a shade of what she once was.

What she has now is a mockery of life. A half-life. A life unworthy of touching those unspoiled by war and evil, by the particular festering rot of darkness that clings to her no matter that she is not what she once was.

Grandmaster Robin calls her a sister, holds them both together with tenderness she does not deserve. Says that she can and will be better, and looks upon Aversa with eyes lacking judgement, lacking even pity. She understands that pity is not what Aversa needs, but even she can do only so much. She cannot give Aversa what she needs.

What Aversa needs…

Even she could not hazard a guess.

 

The pale, cold rays of the Ylissean sun filter in through the gauzy white curtains, and she groans. She had tried to return to her village, to rebuild, but found herself unequal to the task. There are no survivors to remember her or her parents, and though she had tried, had done her best, they had not wanted her help, in the end. Had not wanted the hand of an outsider to tear down what they were so carefully bringing back to life.

She cannot begrudge them their wariness. A sorceress has no place building homes around a slipshod town square, nor digging a well, nor in tilling the fields.

A sorceress has no place, not in her village.

Perhaps not anywhere.

So here she stays instead, in rooms borrowed on her behalf by a woman who calls her "sister" even though they are nothing of the sort. Even though Aversa has done nothing to warrant the kind of care and love that Robin is so willing to give to her. She accepts every kindness with something akin to shame, but accepts nonetheless. It would be foolishness not to.

Still, she cannot live on charity alone, and as the days march steadily forward Aversa finds herself hungry for something, anything that she might call a goal. A purpose. Anything to restore her to a sense of living for more than the sake of it.

"Surely there must be something I could do," she says one night. Wind rustles the leaves of the trees near her open window, gentler than she thinks wind ought to be. "Surely I have other skills." The silence is a stimulating conversation partner, as always.

She does not sleep that night. She rarely sleeps, anymore. Her dreams are haunted, the ghosts of her many slaughters mingling with the strangest feeling. She's missing something she's never felt herself meant to have.

Missing someone.

Missing them.

Missing her.

 

It couldn't be that, though…couldn't be _her_. Could it?

 

***

 

"You know, they want to get to know you, Sister."

"Little Bird, I don't see how that could be so. I, who was their enemy, a friend to them now? Impossible."

"There are some who wonder about that," says Robin, the damned gentle breeze tousling the curls of her hair. She's cut it shorter now. Says she feels lighter. Says that it had been time for a change.

Aversa couldn't possibly bring herself to make such a change. She's not sure how her friend could have done it.

Strange that Robin has become a friend, but she supposes it cannot be helped.

"It couldn't hurt to make friends, Aversa, even just within the Shepherds. For all you know, that may be what you feel is missing." The smile Robin gives her is gentle as the breeze, yet less annoying. "For all you know, that is all you need for your peace to be restored."

They take regular strolls through the palace grounds now, as the weather has brightened. Truly, it is a lovely place. Sometimes they see no one, sometimes, they see _her_. The only woman from whom Aversa feels she may have something to fear. She does not know when such feelings first took hold,but they are inescapable now.

 

Today, as with most days, they meet the young queen and her toddling daughter. Aversa cannot help but be fascinated by the tiny creature, who in turn never fails to reach a pudgy hand toward her in an echo of her own fascination. Such a strange sensation, to be studied so carefully by a child so small.

"You look well, Aversa," says the young queen, smiling with the sweetness that never seems to leave her face. "Is there anything you need? Your rooms, are they comfortable?"

"Yes," she says. Realizing that she cannot be so blunt with the woman upon whose charity she so relies aside from that of her friend, she adds, "Everything is more than suitable, Your Majesty."

"Please, Aversa, call me Sumia." The young queen giggles as her daughter takes a wobbling step toward Robin. Then another. "Yes, yes, Luci. Go on then."

The child waits for her mother to release her tiny hand, then walks the three remaining steps until she is level with Robin's boot. Throwing her arms around it, she laughs, the sound a bubble of babyish joy. "Robbi!"

"Hello, little princess," Robin says, kneeling down so that she can take the young princess into her arms. "How is my favourite girl?"

"Favourite? I don't know that Princess Lissa would appreciate that," Aversa says, surprising herself with the jest.

Robin laughs. "Well then we'd better not mention this to my wife." She winks, laughing still more joyously as the little princess peppers her face with kisses. "Especially not considering how excitable carrying Owain is making her."

The young queen positively beams at that. "How far along is she now?"

"Seven months. We're getting close." Robin laughs. "Mari is beside herself, even more so than either of us. Even Brady seems agitated, though mostly he’s still just tiny and bald and not really capable of much expression"

"New friend for Luci?"

"That's right, little princess." Robin snuggles the girl to her a moment longer before moving to put her down. "And not just a friend! A little cousin!"

Little Lucina wobbles on her unsteady toddler feet before latching onto Aversa's leg next. "Hi 'Versa," she warbles, the vowel sounds trilling in Aversa's ears like a song. The world stills. There's a feeling nagging at her stomach, urging her to consider this. The sweetness of a child. She's young enough, still, that it would not be anymore difficult to have a child than it is for the other Shepherds.

Other Shepherds?

Why, she's not quite one of them, right?

The world stills again.

Quiets.

Aversa cannot remember a time when she ever felt much affection for a child, but the little princess is a damned charming thing. Funny how much Aversa would like to protect her, when the future princess had been her enemy for so long. "You're a good girl," she says, patting the child's head with decidedly more gentleness than she's sure both the young queen and Robin might have expected. It feels just a little strange, just a little...good? "Back to your mother now, little princess."

"'Versa 'kay!"

Sumia giggles as her daughter toddles back to her, enveloping the child in the safety of her embrace. "You're rather good with children. Have you ever thought of having them, yourself?"

Idly, she wonders if the young queen is this curious to know all her old enemies even as she responds with, "I can't say. Once, I would never have dreamed of it, but now…"

Robin nods and pats her hand, excusing them quickly. She and the young queen exchange curious glances that Aversa is sure they think to be secret, but she notices and says nothing. She cannot understand, does not want to understand, the minutiae of interactions between Ylissean women (and Robin, for all that she is Plegian-born, is such).

Their stroll sees them in the direction of the barracks, where the new commander of the Ylissean Pegasus Knights is hard at work. Cordelia and her future child dance around each other in full armour, the bluntness of their weapons the only indication of the nature of their bout. Robin guides Aversa toward the spectators' bench. She cannot find reason to refuse.

Her half-dead heart feels heavier than stone.

Sunlight gleams down on the pair of them, Cordelia and her daughter. Flashes of white and red and dusk and pale gleam under the harsh light. The girl is darker than one might expect, something that never fails to give Aversa pause. She wonders who the future-child's other parent could be. It is not something that either she or her mother has mentioned, though surely at least the girl herself must know. Around her neck, like with all her comrades, she wears a ring that has yet to adorn her mother's fine finger.

It looks more familiar than it has a right to look, and Aversa wonders at herself again. Premonition has never been a gift of hers, but there's something here. A pull. A sense.

The combatants continue on for a while before someone, the daughter, calls a halt. The pair grins at each other as their breathing levels out, and Robin calls their names. They both turn, and Aversa does not know if she imagines it when the younger women both draw their breath just a little quicker at noting her presence.

"Good morning Robin! Hello Aversa," says the Pegasus Knight, nodding warmly to the both of them. Aversa dips her head in acknowledgement, eyes fixed on the pink of the other woman's cheeks as she does it. The beauty of her fellow women has always caught her eye, true, but this is no ordinary woman.  She stays her thoughts with something akin to fear and wills her sister to say something. Anything.

"Good morning! You're both in fine form, I see," says Robin, smiling at the commander and her daughter.

The younger woman grins sharply and nods, though the confidence in her eyes dims a little when she looks at Aversa. It isn't fear, but it isn't a sort of look Aversa can really place, either. She's used to it by now though, coming from this girl. Still. "Hello, Severa." The name thrums in her throat, as if to say it belongs there though she cannot fathom why.

Or perhaps she can.

An alternative too bizarre to be taken seriously, and yet…

"Um…hi." So timid. She's not like that with any of the others. Robin and Cordelia quirk knowing eyebrows at each other, and Aversa is the only one outside of the joke. The only one who doesn't know. "How've you been?"

The younger woman's attempt at conversation is surprising, though not unwelcome, and yet Aversa has to stop herself from turning to Robin for approval. The tactician is already deep in conversation with the Pegasus Knight Captain, something about gold and allotments and improvements. Logistics. Aversa could laugh. This will be the second time she's to amuse a child, though at least the little princess had the benefit of being too young to be anything other than adorable.

"I've been well. Better than my situation warrants, I suppose. And you, Severa?"

She doesn't tease the way that she would any of the other Shepherds or their future progeny. Doesn't think it appropriate in the case of this girl or her lofty mother.

To her surprise, the younger woman's shoulders drop down to what would be considered normal and ladylike. "I'm well, thank you." She's watching Aversa for something, but for what, exactly? Aversa cannot say. The strange, familiar feeling in her stomach tugs at her again, and then it's too late to say anything else in the same breath because Robin turns to the future-child, a smile on her lips.

She turns to go, believing that the conversation will be over soon enough, only for the pegasus knight to call for her. Softly, it seems, and far more gently than Aversa thinks their present relationship should warrant.

It isn't that she doesn't like the sound of her name off the lovely Cordelia's lips, but that she does not deserve the pleasure of it.

Severa's eyes flicker toward where her mother and Aversa are now standing, just off to the side. Robin's eyes do the same, and it is then that Aversa knows. The strange things she's been thinking and feeling, of course they would be so easily explained. As if this were all perfectly normal; as if this were meant to be. Somehow, in some way, the Aversa of Severa's ruined world had wed Cordelia, the knight paragon of her country. Somehow, in some way, they had a child together, and somehow, in some way, that child can look at this not-quite version of her mother without fear. Without hatred.

" _No_."

Aversa does not know why she would say it, but the meaning is clear to all the women present. Cordelia looks at her with such patience that she cannot stand it. Such an open expression, a willingness to understand and be understood. What has she done to deserve this? A wife out of a woman of such calibre? A daughter, so beautiful and powerful, shining with her potential?

A family to love her, as she is?

It is a cruel power that guides their fates; how can she accept such a lot in life? Has she not ruined enough innocence, that she must corrupt one of the best of the Shepherds? One of the first who'd taken to treating her with a politeness she had done nothing to deserve?

"Aversa?" Cordelia is wise enough not to lay a hand to her, though Aversa does not think that she could push it away.

She has always been curious, always been fascinated by Cordelia—and how could she not be—but to think there is a future, a world where those feelings are fonder. Where they are met with their match in the form of Cordelia's love? She walks away with as much dignity as she can force past her shock, whistling for her pegasus. To her surprise, he comes not from the sky, but from the stables. She does not so much as look back to ask who has been seeing to his care.

How could she, when she knows what the answer must be?

The women on the ground call out for her as she flies away, away, anywhere but here, but she does not turn back. She is pleased to find that no one follows. The pit in the bottom of her stomach is not sadness or regret.

How could it be?

  


***

  


She tries her best to avoid the training grounds after that day, instead choosing to spend her time in the dark corners of the Ylissean Royal library; or at least, one of them, anyway. She had not realized, in her days as advisor to the Plegian crown, how much she had missed the simple pleasure of reading. It is a joy to rediscover.

The library in which she so often finds herself now is scarcely inhabited by any other than herself, though on occasion Robin sits with her there. They do not speak of Cordelia, and though it feels as if she goes against her nature each time, she is grateful to Robin for being discreet. She cannot see how Severa exists, and yet she is here. Is it inescapable then, that she should wed the Pegasus Knight Captain? Should raise a daughter with a woman born as much of the sunlight as she is the dusk?

How it could be possible, she cannot say, but Aversa turns to the dusty books in the library with increased fervour each time the idea of Cordelia pops into her head. Severa, too. A family, for a cast-off like her? How could that be so?

It happens so often that Aversa finds she has read more in the last few weeks than she ever had in her life before the Shepherds.

 

Sitting in what Robin jokingly calls her library one morning, Aversa is startled by a knock at the door. Or rather, a gentle rapping of knuckles against the doorframe, as there is no true door so to speak. She looks up from the book in her lap, curled up as she is in her favourite armchair, and nearly regrets thinking herself so at peace. Of course, she is not deserving even of that.

"Aversa, please, I do not mean to be forward, or to startle you, but I would that we could at least speak for a moment. There are some things that must be discussed between you and I, after all," says Cordelia. She's too beautiful in her earnest address, and far too innocent looking. It's off-putting, and yet Aversa cannot find the words to refuse such a polite entreaty.

Scrambling to summon at least a semblance of the distant, cool demeanour with which she has addressed most of the others, she nods. "If you feel so strongly about it, then please, by all means." She does not say the other woman's name. Cannot.

Aversa cannot say why she should fear the name, except that she does, in the very corners of her soul. "Thank you," says Cordelia, dipping her head in a pretty little nod at Aversa's acknowledgement.

Curse the gods for allowing her to think of the redhead's prettiness _now_! As if the desire to be aloof should be so easily swayed by fine eyes and a lovely smile, and the charming wildness of tresses of flame!

"And what is it that is so important you feel it necessary to accost me today?" Cordelia flinches, if only slightly, and she apologizes before she can stop herself. "Please, excuse me. My nature is as caustic as you may suspect."

"I don't suspect any such thing." Cordelia's voice is firm. "I can only assume, Aversa, that you know what happens between us in the world from which the children of the future came?"

She nods, afraid to acknowledge it. A family, a love like that...no, it is not for her. Not for damaged, dirty, discarded creatures such as herself. Her humanity had been burned away in the fires set upon her village. Even the ashes of that day have been scattered over the years, by the crimes she has committed.

"You must know," Cordelia begins, and despite the nervous tension in her eyes she seems perfectly at ease, "I do not come here today with the intention to convince you that you and I must strive toward...a reiteration of the family from which Severa came."

Aversa raises her eyes toward the redhead at that, closing her book as she does so. "Oh?" She hates to admit, even privately, to only herself, that she's somewhat disappointed to hear that.

"I only come because I would like, among other things, to thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"For your encouragement, for one thing," Cordelia says, and she seems slightly embarrassed. "I must apologize again, for how harsh I must have been at the close of the Fell War. But you were among the first to support my decision to recreate the Ylissean Pegasus Knights once peace began, and I have not forgotten that." There's a true gratitude in her eyes, surprising in how obvious it is.

"A trifle," Aversa replies. She can barely remember providing her support.

"If you insist," Cordelia says, though there's the barest hint of a smile on her lips as she says it. "And then there's also the matter of needing to thank you for saving my life."

"I don't believe I did any such thing," she says, though she knows to what Cordelia refers. If she's honest with herself—which she often isn't, as self-deception is a rare indulgence—it's probably what got her so curious about the redhead in the first place.

Cordelia shakes her head. "I don't know what it is that has you insisting that you are not a good person, that you've never done anything altruistic or even simply unselfish, but I know that you did save me. And you did not have to." The redhead's eyes are difficult to meet, so straightforward and blazingly honest. "I thank you, Aversa, truly."

Aversa thinks that this will be the end of it, except that Cordelia does not look ready to leave. She sits quite still, the book closed in her lap. What else could the other woman possibly have to say to her? Surely that is all she could possibly have had prepared for this dialogue between them. "Is there anything else you would like, Captain?"

The form of address surprises Cordelia if the dusting of pink across her cheeks is any indication, but she does her best to ignore it. They're not going to create a family in this lifetime. Not going to have Severa, and a small estate, and perhaps a few acres of land to their names. No use in remarking, if only to herself, how very pretty the other woman is. "I...it's actually. A request, I suppose."

"Oh? And what do I possess that could be of use to the illustrious captain of the revived Ylissean Pegasus Knights?"

"That's just it," Cordelia says, the blush still present on her porcelain face. "You have your skills, your talents as a Dark Flier. I don't ask that you make a decision right away, but I would have you at least consider joining me as an instructor, if not a member of the ranks."

"You would have a Plegian join the very corps in whose destruction she played a part?" It's intriguing, and not at all what she had been expecting. "You are either far too brave or far too foolish, Captain."

The blush deepens again at the title, and Aversa wonders why she thinks it so very precious.

"Not so." Now it is Cordelia who seems to have difficulty meeting Aversa's eyes, though Aversa does not mind the opportunity to study the younger woman's graceful neck. The curve of her lips and the set of her jaw, and the way her eyelashes curl just slightly at the tips.

This damned infatuation will not let her rest, and for what?

"I don't think that your cadets would take all too _kindly_ to training with, or even learning from me," she offers, hoping to break the other woman of her silence.

It works, at least enough for the redhead to reply with a slight snort. "They have little choice in the matter, if it comes to that. But only if you'd like."

Would she like that? "I will have to think about it, and the answer will most certainly be no," she says, not sure why her voice should be so gentle, why she should feel such softness in it. “I will consider it all the same.”

Cordelia starts just a little, the flinch barely perceptible. Perhaps, were Aversa not watching her so closely, she would not have noticed it at all. "That is all I ask. For the third time, thank you, Aversa." There's a softness in her voice too, and Aversa does not know what to make of it. She could not possibly...even she had said as much. That she did not come to tell her that they must try to recreate the life that would bring them their daughter. Their Severa.

_No, no, Aversa. Cordelia’s daughter. Cordelia’s Severa._

"I suppose I have bothered you long enough." It is meant to sound light, but there is something to it. Some subtle self-admonishment, perhaps? "Have a lovely day, Aversa."

"And to you," she says, "though it was not so bothersome as you may think."

Cordelia flashes her the kind of smile that has doubtless made others fall in love, and Aversa, stubborn and unworthy as she is, tries her best not to follow in that mien. The redhead leaves as quickly as she'd come, and then Aversa is alone again. The book in her lap, so enjoyable only moments before, seems a chore to pick up once more.

The ring she'd found amongst her meagre belongings burns from its place in her pocket.

  
  


***

  
  


The cadets are coming along as well as can be expected of a bunch of spoiled noble little she-brats. Aversa checks the vitriol in her thoughts as she straightens lances, widens stances, and barks out the phases of the drill in what has become something of a habit. Truthfully, they are not so bad, and there are some that are rather impressive, all things considered.

Not that she would ever have the heart to tell Cordelia that, lest she come under the impression that Aversa enjoys doing this. That this is not just a form of penance. That she has not been doing this for nearly half a year simply because for months after their first private conversation, she had tried to avoid Cordelia and found her life lacking. That she has come to wonder what the other woman could have possibly seen in her future self, what it could be that Cordelia might think worthy of notice in her.

What strange sorcery it is, knowledge of a future past.

Severa watches her strangely whenever they meet, and Aversa almost wants to ask her what sort of mother the future her had been. She cannot ever bring herself to voice those questions. It would be unfair, considering what the girl has been through, and cold as she is she cannot say that she would ever wish to cause her family harm.

Not that Severa, the vibrant, loud-mouthed, brilliant girl, is truly family to her. Because she isn't that. Couldn't be that. She simply looks a bit like Aversa, dusky-skinned and white-haired, with a straight nose from which she tends to look down on people she finds foolish, and a familiar curve to her lips when she smiles or sneers or smirks.

"Aversa, you can let them take a break after this," says Cordelia, smiling. She's always smiling around the troops, even as she guides them through exercises that have become more and more gruelling as they advance. It's more false a smile than Aversa likes to see on her face, and she cannot abide by it. Does not like to see the other woman so displeased.

Teaching, it would seem, for all the good it does, forces the teacher to neglect her own rather outstanding talents. Aversa pities the other woman her goodness, that she could not have foreseen that in acting so selflessly, she would come to this unhappiness. She knows that it is not her place, friends though they may be—and even that feels dangerous, too close to love as it so often turns out—but before she can, Severa steps in.

"You look tired mo-Cordelia. Perhaps you should take a break? I'm sure that ma…um…that Aversa and I can handle the rest of the day."

"I'm certain I'm fine, my dear," Cordelia returns, her face still cast in that smile. Aversa has decency enough to dismiss her cadets and let them leave before she turns, setting the expression on her face.

"If this is what you call fine then I shudder to think of what appearance you might put on when things are not going so well."

Severa flashes her a glance and adds, "See? If even _Aversa_ —no offense—can tell that you're not doing so well, then you know you really should rest. Gawd, don't keep _pushing_ yourself!"

Cordelia looks between her daughter and Aversa, unsure. Once she determines that they aren't working together so much as just both pointing out the same thing, she relaxes, if only slightly. The smile falls from her face, and though the tired expression she now wears may be less slightly less pleasant—and therefore slightly less distracting—Aversa curses her own heart that it should leap so readily at the sight. "You're both right, I suppose. I may have been overdoing things as of late..."

"It would appear that it is your nature," Aversa says, "but you will be better for your duties if you allow yourself even a moment to relax. Your peace must be restored."

It's not meant to be any deeper than just an admonishment to relax, but she hears the echo of Robin's words in it and does not quite know why she should think of them now.

Cordelia takes her hand and gives it a squeeze, just a faint pressing together of their hands that makes Aversa's weary heart sing. She hates herself for it, that even some small, insignificant part of her should think it worthy of the woman before her. Still, she does not let go of Cordelia's hand until the woman herself turns to leave. "I think I shall take some time to myself then. I'll let the cadets know to go home." At Severa's protest, she says, "Oh no, dearest, you couldn't think that I would take time off without allowing my fa-the two of you to do the same?"

She smiles at them, this time smaller, but more genuine, and walks off toward the barracks.

"You're killing her, you know," Severa says as the two of them stand, not quite side by side, but close enough, watching Cordelia.

Aversa sighs. Knowing that this is her daughter makes her feel odd beyond words. Something in the back of her mind tells her that there's still time, that this could still happen exactly as it’s happening for the other Shepherds, some of whom will not have children for a year or two yet. The fact that she wants this, wants the woman walking away, wants to give her a child that will grow to be the young lady beside her…well, it's unfathomable that she should want.

Soulless, irredeemable creatures such as her should not want what they do not deserve.

"Wow, you really are different," Severa says, and it takes her a moment to realize that she's still watching Cordelia, while Cordelia's daughter—their daughter—watches her.

"How so?" she asks, before she can stop herself. Before she can remember that she's not supposed to care, that she should never ask. That domesticity and children and a family are not meant for her. Especially not this family, two perfect women and their brilliance and their light, their love.

"Look, you and I both know you're a lot smarter than you're acting right now," Severa answers, the sound of her voice sharp and biting. Feisty. Just the way Aversa would have taught a daughter of hers to be. "I'm not even asking you for my sake, but my mother…Cordelia…look. Just. I know you have _issues_ or whatever but it would be a lot better to have someone in your corner while you work it out, yunno?"

She can't really reply, as Severa walks away as soon as the last word has left her mouth.

  
  


***

  
  


Perhaps without meaning to, she lets herself get closer to the woman whose run circles around her mind for over a year. It's surprisingly easy to do, once she manages to cap her embarrassment at the slightest mention of the Pegasus Knight sisters she'd slain or ordered slain.

Cordelia is all too willing to forgive her, too, citing Aversa's horror at the Wellspring of Truth as a mark of her goodness. "Nothing you did or said under Validar's control can be used against you."

"But it was _me_ , you know. I was still who I am." Still as dry-humoured and sarcastic and competitive and broken into nearly nothing.

"No," Cordelia says. "You were brainwashed and controlled by his dark magic, Aversa. It may have been your body, may have been you in almost every way but for the most important. Your consciousness, your soul, those are beyond reproach; the you I see now is the same soul as the little girl stolen from her village. Innocent."

"You cannot see that."

"Of course I can, and do. Aversa, please, believe me when I say that in you, I see only a woman worthy of life."

When Cordelia says it, she can almost believe it. Can almost believe the words that Cordelia doesn’t speak, either. The ones that she’s been wanting to say, herself, but wouldn’t dare to.

They dance around each other now, and with both Cordelia's and Robin's prodding, coupled with Severa's exasperated, yet fond smiles and Sumia's gentle encouragements, she begins to open up. Not just to them, though they remain far and away her favourites, but to the Shepherds at large. She learns about the Exalt's clumsiness, the princess's resolve, the steadfast friendships they have forged before the end of the world. Gangrel sets out to reclaim Plegia, to turn it into something better, but disappears somewhere along the way. She cannot say that she cares much for him, and even Robin can only summon the barest traces of sympathy.

She plays with her sister’s child, her strangely exuberant nephew, and jokes with Robin about when she and the princess will have their second little prince. Plays with the future Exalt as well, and, to the young duchess’s delight, teaches the woman’s gentle son how to walk with pride. Aversa finds a longing for her own child, can see that Cordelia feels the same, but still...she cannot say what she feels.

They move forward, and each day that passes finds her less angry with herself, less angry with the world. More open to feelings beyond self-reproach and self-pity. She cannot begin remember a time in Validar's service where she had ever been truly happy, but in this new life she finds a reason to smile, and truly, at least once every day.

Cordelia, of course, plays a larger role in all of that than Aversa would like to admit.

Throughout it all, she feels the growing tension between herself and the redheaded genius. It's difficult to describe, at first, but as the days blur into one another, as she begins, more and more, to feel normal again—or for the first time, more accurately—she comes to realize that she has fallen in love. Her fascination has given way to it, an admiration, an affection based far more strongly on the nature of Cordelia's character, on the essence of her spirit. It is frightening to think; for the longest time, she had not believed it possible.

 

Severa notices first, and there's something softer in the young woman when she beckons Aversa outside during a meal with some of the Shepherds. Aversa, loath as she is to walk away from the table where she has a lovely view of Cordelia, relaxed and relatively happy, cannot resist her daughter's half-beseeching, half-demanding glare.

That her mind leaps to so readily claim Severa as her daughter now should be more alarming than it is.

"So, you're in love with my mother, huh?"

Aversa is not one to sputter or deny when she has been found out, but the idea of confessing to something so unthinkable, and yet so true, and to her own daughter, no less! She waits, hoping that Severa will pick up the thread of conversation again. It's gratifying when the younger woman does just that, "Well, mama, I must say, you're cutting things a _bit_ fine. I'm to be born just shy of a year from now, after all."

"You called her...me...mama?"

"Well yeah," Severa says, suddenly bashful, suddenly almost painfully aware of every single hair on her head, every stitch of clothing upon her skin. At least, that's what Aversa sees. "That's how I grew up. Cordelia was always mother, sometimes mommy. You were always mama."

"I see." She should think it strange, she knows, to feel such crushing maternal instincts as she looks at this young woman who can hardly be four years her junior, if that. Those, too, have come on almost too quickly for her to understand. "Might I embrace you, Severa?" She has to know. If this is even a possibility, surely there will be some sign.

The younger woman, contrary to what Aversa has come to expect of her, does not make some sound of indignation as she walks into Aversa's loosely open arms. As she wraps herself around Aversa's taller frame, a small sob thrums through her. Aversa coos soothingly almost without knowing what it is she's doing, holding Severa, holding her daughter close. "There, there, child. You needn't cry."

A muffled noise, something that sounds vaguely like "missed you" and "so much" tug at her heart in such a way as to tell her that _yes_ , even she, Aversa, ruined as she is, might have a chance at family. This one, this wonderful girl and her wonderful mother

She chooses this readily.

"Severa, Aversa? Is everything alright?"

Aversa cannot quite bring herself to turn just yet, to face the woman whose child she holds in her arms. Their child. "Yes, well..." Before she can say more, Severa pulls away—with some reluctance, which Aversa is oddly glad to note—and she brushes down her clothes though there's nothing there.

"Yes, well," she says, sounding so much like Aversa that none could deny their shared blood for the world, "I think I'll leave you two and grab something to eat. Before Kjelle eats it all."

Cordelia laughs gently at her daughter's front and presses a kiss to her cheek as she passes. The blush that rises from Severa's dusky skin is rather adorable, and Aversa feels an unfamiliar tingle of pride at noticing just how beautiful her daughter is. When the girl is no longer within earshot of them, Cordelia turns, lovely, caught in the half-glow of the lanterns and the pale cold light of the moon. "May I ask what that was about?"

Aversa nearly shakes her head, nearly turns away from the glimpse of that warm future she'd felt, holding her time-displaced child in her arms. Instead, perhaps emboldened by the relative privacy to be had, she extends a hand to Cordelia. The woman's smile is almost encouraging, almost hopeful, and Aversa's heart beats firmly in her chest. Soldiering on, as it were, until she sees this to completion.

"Would you walk with me, Cordelia?"

"Yes." Cordelia takes her hand, presses just a little more closely than she normally would. "There is actually something I would like to discuss with you.

"Funny," she says, tugging the woman just a little closer as they leave the lantern light behind. "I was just about to say the same."

  
  


***

  
  


"Mama, you have to hurry up!"

"I'm doing the best I can, precious girl, but you could certainly stand to do more than just stand there looking pretty."

"I've already done enough, I think, but gawds, fine!"

"Thank you, Severa," she says, holding back a dry laugh as her daughter rushes to pack the last saddlebag. "I should certainly hope that that's the last of it."

"It is!"

"Good, then let's go!" She clicks her tongue, delighting when her pegasus takes to the air without a second's delay. The flight to Ylisstol should not be more than a few minutes, even with the baggage they've loaded up, but today of all days, she cannot spare even a single minute.

"Do you think it's going to be weird for me to be there?"

"And why would it?" she calls back, hazarding a backward glance at her daughter. "The other Shepherds' children have all stayed or are planning to stay until the birth of their present-selves. I shouldn't think it a problem."

Severa smiles, clearly pleased, though she doesn't seem able to resist teasing her mother by saying, "Well yes, but you would say that, mama! You've never quite cared for rules!"

"No, I suppose I have not," she says, and the swell of love in her chest crashes around her in waves at the sight of her daughter riding a pegasus as black as night. "Now then, shall we have a little race?"

She speeds off before Severa can say anything in response, urging her pegasus toward Ylisstol, each wing beat carrying her closer to her home.

  


Her wife is already in labour when they arrive, the pair of them smelling of pegasi and faces windstained. Cordelia reaches out for her with a gasp, and it is with no small amount of pride that Aversa takes her wife's hand in her own. "You were…nearly late," the redhead pants out, and there's a glint of cheerful teasing in her eyes.

"Yes, well, darling, you can't blame me for that entirely," Aversa says, kissing her wife's pale hand as Cordelia’s grip tightens. Severa looks as if she's about to protest when her mother gasps out again, and the midwife and nurse announce that it's time. Aversa watches her wife's face throughout the birth, and she's sure that their hearts swell in time as baby Severa's first cries rend the air.

Perfect, exactly as Aversa suspected she would be.

Looking between them, her newborn daughter, her wife, and her grown-up little girl, she could cry, except that even renewed as she feels, Aversa is not a crier. Instead, she smooths her wife's hair and kisses both her daughters, and feels, finally, that she is what she was meant to be.

 

All that is broken might one day be mended.

All that is lost might one day be found.

All that is destroyed might one day be restored.

 

Everything, everything, including Aversa, who is so much more than what she once was.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm essentially mixing up femslash week and rarepair week, which I never participate in but should.
> 
> Anyway, here's day 1! Hit me up [on Tumblr](https://lazywritergirl.tumblr.com) if you wanna, I'll take requests/listen to you about whatever/or just answer whatever questions you may have cuz I...don't talk to people in real life about my writing.


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